


Country Magic #8 - The Dance

by olivejuice28



Series: Country Magic [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivejuice28/pseuds/olivejuice28
Summary: Based off the song "The Dance" by Garth Brooks. Draco realizes that a little bit of happiness is better than none.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Country Magic [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518281
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Country Magic #8 - The Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Normally I do my notes at the end, but I wanted to give y'all a heads up that this is sad and I am SORRY! I don't actually like writing tear-jerkers, but this song popped into my head two days ago and I can't get rid of it until I write the story it inspired, and if I have to sit here sobbing at my keyboard, I'll at least feel better knowing some of you will join me. <3

**Country Magic #8**

**The Dance**

There’s an old saying about how nothing worth having comes easy. If that wasn’t the foundation of their reality, he didn’t know what was. It had taken many years, innumerable arguments, several false starts, more patience than Saint Monica herself could have possessed, assistance from every quarter - including that of her friends who had surprisingly become his friends as well - and one ridiculously elaborate and nauseatingly romantic gesture to get her to believe that she meant more than the world had to offer to him, and to agree to make him the happiest man on earth by becoming his wife. It had all been worth it. That day, that glorious, miraculous day, had taken place 24 years, 11 months, and 3 days ago. Much to the astonishment of virtually everyone they knew, they’d made it work; carved a wonderful life out for themselves based on mutual respect and adoration, following the steps of a dance only the two of them knew. They were going to celebrate their 25th anniversary with a 2-week trip to Spain; a penthouse suite had been booked at the most luxurious resort on the coast, and a variety of activities had been planned for them to enjoy. He figured she deserved to be pampered and spoiled and basically awarded a sodding medal for putting up with him for a quarter of a century.

But that was not to be. No, instead, 24 years, 10 months, and 16 days into their blissful (because they truly were immensely happy) domestic union, the fates saw fit to throw a massive wrench into all those carefully laid and eagerly anticipated plans. It came unexpectedly, as most wrenches do, and in the form of a freak accident in the Department of Mysteries where his beautiful, brilliant wife worked tirelessly to solve the intricate quandaries of the magical world. She shouldn’t have even been in the Time Room that day, that wasn’t her usual domain, but she had gone in search of a coworker at precisely the same moment that a temperamental and dangerous spell had gone out of control. She had taken the brunt of the magical power on herself.

They said they were lucky to keep her alive long enough to get her to St. Mungo’s. They said it was a miracle she hadn’t been completely obliterated by the sheer force of the magic at work. They said at least there would be a chance for everyone to say goodbye. As if that made it better, made it bearable, made it less excruciating in any way, since they also said there was nothing they could do. What good were _they_ , then? While it would have ripped his heart in half to hear that she’d died on the spot, it could not have been worse than watching her fade away before his very eyes, counting every second, bearing the weight of what was to come.

At first he had been in total denial over the prognosis, had called in every expert, demanded every test be run, spent more galleons than he even knew in the desperate hopes of finding a cure, of stalling time. In the end, it had been Hermione who had finally helped him come to grips with the inevitable. He had ranted and raged and bellowed himself hoarse after the final healer had left the room, cursing the heavens and the silent powers that inhabited it for allowing this to happen. She had sat quietly, had let him storm and rail until he was completely spent, and then had simply opened her arms in silent invitation. He climbed into the narrow hospital bed with her, wrapped his arms around her in a fierce yet careful embrace, and broke down into gut-wrenching sobs that would have tormented even the most stoic of souls to hear them.

Her tears mingled with his, her whispered comforts filled the pauses between his choked confessions, apologies, and declarations of love. She had always been able to read him like a familiar book and knew he held no secrets from her. She countered every one of his fears and worries with a steadfast belief in him and his ability to come through this ordeal even stronger than she knew he already was. He would do that for their children, for their family and friends, and for her, because - as she gently teased - she would of course find out.

The last two weeks of her incredible and awe-inspiring existence on this earth were spent rather simply, all things considered. She didn’t want a media circus, nor did she have the energy for a revolving door of guests, so the approved list was intentionally short. Only immediate family and a handful of close friends were allowed to visit, and only for limited amounts of time. Evenings were reserved for just the four of them, and once the kids were in bed, the two of them would settle into their own and continue a conversation she had started the very hour after the life-altering news had been delivered. It was a conversation about the future, one she would never see but wanted a hand in all the same. Things she wanted their children to do, and see, and experience; things she wanted for him, as well. Dreams she’d had for their family, goals she had set for her work, ideas she’d never taken the time to put down on paper. He often did that for her, knowing he could never remember everything on his own and wanting a record of her compassionate, optimistic, and determined view of the way the world could be.

Their children were his saving grace during those far-too-few days. Scorpius, himself in miniature with his pale blonde hair and slate-grey eyes, was soft-spoken and reserved, and less sharp around the edges than his father had been at that age. At nineteen he had perfected the traditional Malfoy mask of indifference, choosing to hide his emotions around most, but never able to keep secrets from his intuitive mother and sister. He hadn’t cried or thrown a tantrum over the unfairness of it all, but instead had taken up a near-constant post by Hermione’s side, always making sure she was comfortable and that she had anything she might need. For as similar as the young wizard was to Draco, Ophelia was her mother’s twin. Also named after a Shakespearean character, the seventeen year old witch had chestnut-colored curls and warm, amber eyes. From the time she could walk and talk she’s been a whirlwind of passionate feelings and overflowing personality. Unlike her brother, she had dissolved into an inconsolable puddle the first day the healers had delivered their verdict, but had since steeled herself with some of her inherited Gryffindor courage, and had only left her mother’s side to sleep each night.

As the final grains of sand slipped through Hermione’s hourglass, she was surrounded by her three favorite people in the entire world. She gave each of her children one last hug, one last comforting word, one last “I love you,” before sending them out to their grandparents in the other room. Then, it was just the two of them. As he lay beside her, his fingers entwined with hers, he recalled his favorite memories of their early days together. She whispered that she could never have asked for a better man, a better partner, a better father for her children, or a better friend to share this life with. She apologized for leaving him so soon, and wondered if maybe it would have been easier if they’d never given it a go, since it wouldn’t have led to this unwelcome end. He simply wrapped her in his arms and told her that even if he had known this was coming, he wouldn’t have changed a thing; that the years he’d spent with her were worth more than multiple lifetimes with any other. He would still go back and do it all again, even knowing they’d have to say goodbye, because the life they had built together, the lessons he had learned, and the priceless gift of herself she’d given him were things he couldn’t imagine missing out on.

He was selfishly relieved that all the services and formalities were over several weeks before their actual anniversary. He didn’t think he could have handled having to bury her on the same day. Instead, he found himself sitting beside the carved marble that now represented her final resting place on their 25th, wondering what he was supposed to do now. The rose garden was beautiful and peaceful, it had been one of her favorite places to read, and yet it seemed so small and insignificant in comparison to who she was and all she meant to him. Part of him, the piece that was still simmering with anger and resentment towards the unfairness of it all, wanted to build a monument in her honor. Something huge and elaborate that showcased her beauty and kindness, her desire for knowledge, her passionate heart, her quick wit, and Merlin, even her stubbornness. All the things that made her _her_ , and all the things that made her his. She hadn’t wanted that, though, in fact she’d gone so far as to make him promise not to do anything _Malfoy-ish_ , and he had, of course, agreed. Anything for her.

There’s another old saying about how loving someone, and being loved in return, is the greatest joy on earth. He knew the truth of that, knew how much her love had changed him and helped him become a man he could be proud of; that their children could be proud of. In the years that followed, he saw many of her goals and plans to fruition, and Scorpius and Ophelia each took on projects and causes of their mother’s as well. He carried her in his heart every second of every day, and never passed up an opportunity to share stories about her and the amazing work that was still being done in her name. People often expressed their sorrow and condolences, acknowledging how hard it must have been for him to go through something like that, and his response was always similar: He would have endured any amount of pain if it allowed him to belong to her for even the shortest amount of time. Even as his own days grew short in number, that sentiment never changed. He felt certain she’d been aware of all the things he’d done, all the milestones their children had reached, and looked forward to seeing her again and resuming their dance once more.

**“And now, I’m glad I didn’t know. The way it all would end. The way it all would go. Our lives are better left to chance, I could have missed the pain. But I’d have had to miss the dance.” ~Garth Brooks.**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Again, I apologize for any tears this might have caused. Would love for you to go read one of my happier ones now! (Mistletoe Misunderstandings and Just a Kiss are two of my favorites and do NOT require tissues!)


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